Truce for the Cowl
by Ephy
Summary: Jason hit the button to shut down the message before it reached its end, gasping for a breath. He gripped the console to get a hold on reality – and also because his knees were trembling.
1. Chapter 1

_Note: So I had this idea and I had to write it. Divergence – set instead of Battle for the cowl, obviously._

###

 **Truce for the cowl**

###

Jason hit the button to shut down the message before it reached its end, gasping for a breath. He gripped the console to get a hold on reality – and also because his knees were trembling.

Fuck. _Fuck._

He had been surprised to be called back to the Cave, but he'd come. He had been hurting, and had been mad about it because, damnit, it should have been a familiar feeling by now – or, rather, he should have been strong enough to beat the emo out of himself instead of feeling like the dark hero of some epic movie. Hell, he should have felt _satisfied_. Batman was dead. Bruce – was dead. Wasn't it what he'd wanted?

Yet, instead, he'd felt sick.

So he'd come. That Bruce had left a message for him – even for him – even for his biggest failure of a son – had been… Jason's stomach twisted. It had felt like _hope_. Bruce was dead, but maybe, maybe Jason had still meant something. A few words from a dead man would never make up for the lack of action, but…

But he'd thought that, maybe, they could give him closure.

Why had he been so _foolish?_

Failure. Taking responsibility. Self-destructive. Broken.

Fuck him. _Fuck him_.

It hurt. If so fucking _hurt_. Bruce being dead was bad enough – but he had to say _this_ with his metaphorical last breath? To call him a failure? _Fuck_.

Jason's grip tightened, his joint blanching under the strain. He needed this. To snap out of it. He could feel the pressure, the rage, the need to lash out. Bruce wasn't there anymore to take it – but there were others. Dick Perfect Grayson. The replacement. The demon brat. They were strong, they would do.

No – _no_. Jason forced himself to breathe in, then wait, then exhale. Once again. Then again. Just one more breath. Alright. He could do this. He could – try to be sane.

Bruce was dead. But it also meant than _Batman_ was dead. And perhaps Batman wasn't enough – hadn't ever been enough for Gotham – but… But he still was _necessary_. Red Hood, by itself, was useless. Both were needed, exactly like Jim Gordon was needed: someone on the right side of the law, a vigilante with iron-strong principles to second him and give the city hope – and the avenger who would stop those who were too far gone to be handled normally.

Without Batman, it was all wrong.

Jason breathed in. Then out. Then, slowly, let go of the console. He had to try, and to pray whatever god willing to listen, if there was any – to help him stay calm enough to talk Dick, Tim and Damian into working together to keep Gotham safe.

Into making a truce for the cowl.

###

"Of course _Mister Perfect_ would say that! Excuse-me, princess, to have my own opinions!"

"It's not about _opinions!_ You _murder_ _people_!"

Tim ducked to dodge the knife Jason had thrown at Dick – with more rage than precision, thankfully – without taking his eyes from his computer's screen. He had work to do, for God's sake. Work that badly needed doing, considering… He stopped his thoughts right there.

The shouting kept going on the lower platform where his older brothers were standing. Jason had another knife in his hand and looked ready to throw it.

Tim and Jason had some kind of cease-fire ongoing. Unfortunately, it didn't mean Jason was actually _safe_ to be around. He not trying to kill Tim anymore was a start but they certainly weren't allies.

However, since Dick had called Jason back so he would listen to Bruce's message, Tim had assumed that he hadn't been the only one to reach out to Jason lately. That Bruce not being… there, anymore, would bring them together.

He had been wrong. Obviously.

"You can't expect us to just forget what you did!" Dick argued with more temper than discernment.

"It's not about me and what I've done!" Jason yelled. "It's about _Gotham_."

"We can't just throw away everything Bruce stood for because he died!"

" _I'm not asking you to!_ "

"You want me to forget how you work!"

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose, aggravated. On the training platform above, the sound of Damian's punches had slowed, then stopped entirely. One could safely assume that the kid was spying on the ex-Robins – and they said _he_ was giving the brat a bad example to follow. That Bruce had been…

Bruce would never be an example for anyone ever again.

Tim stood. Neither Jason nor Dick noticed; they were too busy arguing at each other. Tim grit his teeth, walking toward them. He had to physically come between them for them to realize he was there.

"Replacement…"

"Tim…"

"Silence. Both of you. Do you hear yourselves?"

Jason glared; Dick gaped, apparently surprised at his cold anger. Tim cast them his darkest look.

"Bruce is dead," he declared flatly. "If you want to fight each other, get out of the damn city. We have enough work to do as it is."

Dick frowned. Jason, on the other hand, looked more startled than angry. That would be a first.

Then Jason actually nodded.

"The replacement is right." Tim blinked. Now _that_ was a first. "We need to work together. And before you start protesting again, Dick, _yes_ , I _will_ follow the rules. As long as needed. Satisfied?"

Tim felt a warm feeling grow in his chest. He had aimed at calming them, but… Jason was actually suggesting… would it even be _possible_?

"It doesn't change the past, Jason," Dick said, though in a less aggressive tone than before.

"Shall we go after Selina to lock her up then?" Jason commented sarcastically.

Maybe it would. If they made it work. Or maybe just thinking about it made him as insane as Jason.

"We need all hands on deck for this," Tim interrupted. "We shouldn't forget what Jason did, but we could settle this later. When things are back to normal."

Jason cast him a glance. Things would never go back to normal and he knew it. They both did. However, it might be enough of an excuse for Dick to agree. It was like their eldest felt the need to be even more rigid about their rules now that Bruce wasn't there anymore to enforce them.

Tim could understand that need. Bending the rules now might cause a breach they could never repair. However… They needed to be flexible enough to make this work. ' _For Gotham,'_ Jason's voice echoed in his mind.

Dick took the time to weigh pros and cons. Then, with a sigh, he nodded.

"Very well."

Jason didn't quite relax but took a marginally less belligerent stance. Tim allowed himself to breathe.

Then of course Damian landed in the middle of the triangle they were forming. He directed his challenging smirk to Tim.

"All hands on deck, you said. I demand to be part of it."

Rage bubbled on the surface of Tim stormy mood. He squared his shoulders, ready to snap him out of his delusion – but the sound of Jason's laugh startled him out of it. It was the first time he heard it for real, as opposed to on tape; and only in surveillance feeds prior to Jason's death.

"If Golden boy and I can work together, kid, then you can work with the brat."

Damian protested vehemently at this denomination. To be fair, Dick seemed ruffled as well.

Tim wasn't sure he looked better.

He was _so_ doomed.

###

This was going to get out of hand _so quickly_. Dick didn't think he had it in him to handle both his brothers, and Damian. Tim should have been the easy one, but ever since Damian had arrived, it was like he was trying to compensate the relatively quiet adolescence he'd had until now by making every stupid teenage decision he hadn't made in the previous years.

Dick felt tired already. How had Bruce handled this? Right. He had not.

He couldn't do this. Especially not now.

Yet someonehad to.

"Jason, stop provoking Tim. Tim, he's right, Damian should be included in this as well. Damian – you know the rules."

The child, who had straightened with a smirk when Tim was rebuked, frowned at the last sentence.

"We should cleanse scum from the surface of…"

"You. Know. The rules," Dick interrupted, a familiar growl settling in his throat, which shouldn't have been there, really shouldn't, but he couldn't help it. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jason and Tim tense. He ignored them. "I won't even let you _argue_ on this. The rules apply to all of us, to all people who work on Batman's name. If you want in – you're in all the way."

Dick had managed not to glance at Jason despite the small speech being directed at him as well. He didn't protest.

Then to his surprise, Damian nodded, lips pursed notwithstanding. Dick suppressed the need to take a deep breath. They were agreeing to all work together? _Now?_ Now that they didn't have – that they didn't have someone to turn to anymore, someone to whom they'd all listened?

Or was Bruce's death the reason why they felt the need to regroup? To form a family again – or, in Damian's case, to form a family at all?

Would this lessen the emptiness growing in Dick's chest?

"Thank you," Dick said, keeping his face blank. Then he frowned. "This also includes the 'no-killing- _Robin_ 'rule, you know?"

Damian gaped in protest. Before he could voice it, Dick turned to Jason.

"It applies to you too."

"I never tried to _kill_ the replacement!" Jason protested. "If I had, he would be dead. No offense, kid."

"None taken," Tim sighed. "I must admit I _am_ grateful for you not having tried to beat the hell out of me those last few months, though," he added, pointedly not looking at Dick.

See? Compensating. Dick maturely didn't point out that _letting a murderer out of prison_ possibly hadn't been Tim's smartest move. After all, it might have played in Jason showing up to hear Bruce's message. Dick hadn't thought he'd come.

How were there going to manage this? This was insane.

Like a Wednesday in Gotham, laughed a little voice in his head. It sounded a lot like Babs.

"If _Robin_ isn't able to defend himself, maybe _he_ isn't as useful as he should!" Damian finally managed.

"Those who need to be monitored to make sure they follow the rule are the useless ones," Dick declared with force. "We need to do this? Fine. But we won't do it Jason's way, or the League's way, or even my way. We do it _Batman's way_. Those who don't agree can get out now and stop wasting our time."

"Scum _has_ to pay!" Damian insisted, turning to Jason for support – surprising Dick once again in the process.

"Sure, kid," Jason agreed. Dick would have strangled him. "But this isn't about justice. This is about Batman."

Damian wrinkled his nose.

"Isn't Batman supposed to be about justice?"

Jason actually laughed at that.

"Either you say Batman is about justice, or that justice is about killing criminals. It can't be both. So. Do you want in Batman's brand of justice?"

Dick held his breath. Then Damian nodded, thoughtful.

"Alright. No killing." He smirked. "No killing Robin, either. Though I honestly don't see how he is useful in the greater scheme of things."

"You don't go to war without a general, brat," Jason rolled his eyes. "Even if the general is 60 and got a limp."

"Thank you for comparing me to a 60-year-old maimed general," Tim commented sarcastically.

"I can see the similitude," Damian agreed.

Dick blinked. Then smiled. Because maybe they were antagonistic but – this sounded familiar. He had heard this kind of group dynamic numerous times at Titan Tower. Or even here, in the Cave.

This sounded like it would actually work.

###

Todd was tense and miserable. Grayson was tense and miserable. Drake was tense and miserable – so at least there was _one_ good side to all this. Damian had had to promise not to kill him, but maybe it was for the best. After all, once dead, Drake would never have been able to admit Damian's superiority, nor to resign Robin's name to him.

Of course it was all pointless now. He couldn't be Batman's Robin without Batman.

Then again, the situation gave him the opportunity to prove he was Batman's rightful heir and should be offered the name and cape. He could have taken them, but he was willing to give Grayson and Todd some time to reach this realization by themselves instead. After all, one should be magnanimous toward one's allies.

And both of them made good allies. Better than he had first thought. A pity that Todd's mind was flawed. Despite his display of good behavior, he was barely refraining from lashing out, his hands twitching for a gun. His fighting skills were exceptional though, even by league's standards. No wonder Damian's mother had given him the opportunity to learn from her. As for Grayson… Damian hadn't made up his mind yet, but he could see how Batman's training had shaped him.

Damian forbad himself to be envious. It was not befitting of a prince.

He observed them from the upper platform on which he had climbed back, allegedly to resume his training. Drake was back at the computer. Grayson and Todd were whispering at one another, regularly casting looks toward Drake and himself, as if to make sure they wouldn't hear.

Which was stupid; Damian was perfectly able to read lips. Grayson was talking about Todd still having a room at the manor, and Todd retorting that he liked to breathe some air from time to time, thank you very much. In other words, they were being difficult.

This so-called truce would work. Damian would make sure of it. He couldn't accept anything less than learning from all Batman's former protégées, since the man himself was now… unavailable.

Except for Drake, of course. After all, Damian already knew how to use a keyboard and Drake was otherwise inept.

Todd's hands twitched enough for it to become visible. The man closed them into fists and spat something at Grayson before doing his exist.

"Think about it!" Grayson called after him while Todd made his bike roar.

Damian snorted, going back to the mats to practice some kata.

He should have stayed, after what had happened with his grandfather. He should have stayed in Gotham rather than waiting for a bad feeling to come back. Then he would have been able to train with Batman, with his father. To learn from him. To learn to know him.

Damian accelerated his rhythm, making his movements sharper. Bruce Wayne wasn't there anymore. His ex-protégées would have to do. And himself, of course.

Batman was dead – long live the Batman.

###

 _Notes: Hope you liked it :)_

 _References:_

 _Damian tries to kill Tim (and makes a lousy job of it, but then he was only 8 at the time) in Batman #657, hence the "not-killing-Robin" rule._

 _Tim gives Jason the override code of the prison so he can break out in Robin #182._

 _I realized a bit late that the scene when Jason listens to the testament actually existed, in Robin #183. In any case, I think maybe the different setting here helped Jason to react differently._

 _And then of course the whole fic is an alternate verse of the whole "Battle for the Cowl" debacle, so timeline-wise this happens_ instead of _that arc._


	2. Interlude: Snap

_Note: And here I thought I was done with this verse._

###

 **Interlude: Snap**

###

Standing on a rooftop, Jason glared at the walls, the alleys, the few passer-by. Nothing was happening. Not _enough_ , anyway. He had been playing the good kid soldier for a week now and he felt like he couldn't breathe.

His helmet helped, kept him grounded, real and cold against his face. Yet – rage was bubbling up his throat. He needed to… needed to… _punch_. _Kill_. But Bruce was… Bruce wasn't there. He couldn't…

Then he heard a shout, spotted a pimp grabbing one of his girls harshly, hand raised…

Jason blinked. There was no wind anymore, no sky above his head. What… He looked around, stumbling forward. Wait. He knew those walls, this place…

He was back at his flat.

He inhaled sharply. His muscles were hurting but relaxed. He felt… good. _Better_.

His knuckles were bloody.

Shit. Shitshitshit.

He staggered toward his couch, feeling the need to touch, to grab. He didn't make it, collapsing to the ground instead. The cold concrete against his face was a relief.

Bits and pieces of memories flashed in his mind. He had grabbed the pimp, smashed his head on the asphalt. Then again. Then again. Then he had punched the hell out of him – his face, his abdomen, some on his crotch. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. He had… had he broken the rule?

He concentrated, forcing the memories back. And exhaled, because a scream had made him pause. It was the girl; he had a soft spot for them. She had (foolishly) grabbed his arm, begging him to stop. Because it came from her, he had let go, tossed her his phone so she would call 911, and left.

Jason opened his eyes. His whole body was shuddering. He forced himself back on his feet anyway, reaching for the computer. He had to check, to make sure the guy survived. _Please_.

He grit his teeth at the realization that he was begging for that fucking worm of a pimp to be alive. Yet here he was. He used his access to reach the Batcomputer system and checked for police reports of aggression in the area. Thankfully, the girl _had_ called 911; the guy had ended up at West Mercy Hospital. Alive.

Jason moaned with relief. He might be a bit feverish yet. _Damnit_.

He dragged himself to the couch – the bed was way too far away – and curled on it as much as possible so this damn gigantic body of his would fit. To think there'd been a time when he'd been the shortest of his class.

Then he forced himself to breathe. In. Hold. Out. Hold. In. Hold. Out… The regular rhythm helped. He could focus better. Now, he felt his hands hurting. Where were his damn gloves? He scanned the room and saw them on the ground, next to the door, along with his helmet. He must have removed them when arriving.

Maybe he should take a shower. He might be able to handle it; the water helped. Most of the time.

He didn't want to move, but he had to. When the others would learn what he'd just done, they'd probably want an explanation – and he couldn't be in this state when they'd contact him. No. Way. He wasn't _weak_. He didn't need their _help_. He was _fine_.

Strong with this fact, he forced his limbs to move, removing his clothes on his way to the bathroom. He left the door open and didn't close the shower curtain; no need to force another trigger by getting himself in such a small space.

The hot water did help. Then it ran out. Not a problem; the cold water helped as well. He stood there, ignoring his body shudders.

His phone started ringing.

This wouldn't be the others; they'd use his com link instead. Or did they try, and failed, because he'd still been out?

He stepped out of the shower and steeled himself. He grabbed some jeans to put on as an afterthought. He didn't need to find himself naked while talking to one of the bats. The replacement at least ought to have hacked into his security system.

"Yeah?"

"Are you alright?"

He hadn't expected a feminine voice, but he should have.

"Talia," he sighed.

"Sit on that horrible couch of yours. You need to breathe."

"I'm fine."

"Then you won't mind doing as I tell you?" she suggested with the hint of a smile in her voice.

She had too much of a hold on him. He could handle himself just fine anyway.

He sat.

"There. Happy?"

"It seems like the shower snapped you out of it. Do you however realize how cold you are?"

As she said it, he started feeling it. The bare flat had heating but he hadn't turned it on, and the icy water was still dripping on his chest.

"I feel it perfectly fine, thank you for that," he cursed at her.

"Do remember to treat your hands."

"I don't need _mothering_ , Talia."

She hummed in approval.

"Less and less so. I shall call again after they are done with you. I might also send you someone to spar with."

He laughed. It wasn't a kind sound.

"Did one of your ninjas disappoint you?"

"He's starting to think too much of himself," she confirmed. "Goodbye, Jason."

She hung up, not waiting for his answer. He snorted. But he did feel better.

He went to turn the heat on, then headed for the kitchenette to fix himself something to eat. He was tired but relaxed, and fully back to himself. When they'd call, he'll be ready to face them.

###

 _Notes: So. Considering how Jason acts in canon at this point in time (and some others), I consider he DOES have mental problems. I'd think PTSD with some pit crazy residue. Obviously, I'm no psychologist, so this is just my best guess. My apologies if it's not realistic._

 _Also – I think Jason does believe in the mission he gave himself. He killing criminals isn't a decision he made because of his other problems. Those are separated issues._

 _Anyway, hope you like it! :)_


	3. Chapter 2

_Thank you all for your encouragements :) I have to admit I have no idea where this is going, and I didn't think I'd write a second chapter. But hey, I had inspiration on this fic again, so here is chapter 2! ('Snap' being an interlude)._

###

 **Truce for the cowl: Chapter 2**

###

Dick was tensed, trying to ignore his headache. It felt weird to modify the Batsuit so it would fit this frame. Scratch that; it _hurt_ to modify the Batsuit so it would fit this frame. Yet it had to be done.

He let go the lightened fabric, pressing two fingers around the bridge of his nose. Technically, they'd decided to pull this off _together_ , but someone still had to interact with their allies. Jim Gordon, for one, couldn't just be contacted by phone. And they hadn't even started talking about the Justice League.

So he'd been working on this. Nightwing, Red Hood and Robin patrolled in the meantime, with Damian helping from the computer. The situation whole was far from ideal. They needed Batman outside – and the brat wouldn't stay inside for long.

And Dick knew exactly what he needed to stay in line. Pushing away the dark kevlar from his soon-to-be cape (fuck the damn thing), he unrolled a paper full of schematics for other suits. Nightwing's was lined with red rather than blue; not sure the name would fit Jason, though. He was more a tank than an acrobat for sure. _Wings_ weren't his thing. Dick added a jacket around the modified suit. If he could just convince Jason to wear a red bat symbol on his chest… That would already mean a lot.

Robin's had been modified to accommodate a sword on his back, and reinforced gauntlets to parry blades. Dick wasn't sure it would work, but Damian certainly could use an example to follow. Being Robin was about everything Damian was _missing_ , hope and helping others and having someone's back. Hopefully, it would push him in the right direction.

Dick hadn't started working on the third suit. He wanted to talk to Tim first. The last year had been hard on him, making him grow older than his age. He was more than good enough to stand on his own two feet, and to choose himself a name.

"Are you redesigning the Robin's suit?" a voice suddenly asked from behind him.

Dick barely managed to jump out of his skin. Tim had always been the best of them at stealth, and was starting to be good enough for even Dick not to notice him before he actually talked.

He rerolled the schematics as calmly as he could manage.

"Not at all," he answered. "Just toying with ideas."

Tim frowned, trying to reopen the page.

"It looked very different…"

"It's nothing, Tim."

Tim glared at him accusingly.

"It was _different_. It almost looked like it wasn't done to fit _me_."

Dick tried to find his words. This _wasn't_ how he'd planned to present things to Tim. Not at all.

His silence stretched too long; Tim correctly interpreted it as a confirmation. To Dick's surprised, he exploded.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me. How can you even consider to let him wear that costume, Dick? What Earth are we on that you choose him over me?"

"That's not it, Tim," Dick assured him in his quietest tone. Maybe he could still explain what he'd meant before things derailed.

"It isn't? _Really?_ "

"Don't be so sensitive, Drake," commented Damian's from above them.

Dick paled. Here went his hopes to make things right. Besides Tim's reaction, this wasn't a good time for Damian to find out about Dick's plans either, especially considering how _smug_ he sounded.

"Damian, shut up," Dick ordered. " _Now_."

But it was too late: Tim was looking at him with what looked like betrayal. And of course, Damian wasn't listening. He dropped down to join them.

"Sorry, Drake. You're still part of the team… Maybe the Batgirl costume is available!"

That's when Tim snapped.

"My name is Tim _Wayne!_ " he yelled, punching Damian in the face hard enough for the kid to fall on the ground. Which was kind of deserved.

"Tim!" Dick still intervened, grabbing Tim before he could hit Damian a second time. "Back off!"

"Nhh… Nh. I let you get that shot in, Drake," Damian commented sullenly, trying to hide his wounded pride behind more provocation. "I want you to feel _good_ about yourself… God knows you don't have any other reason!"

Tim grit his teeth, shrugging out of Dick's grip.

"You want _me_ to back off? Fine."

He stormed out of the Cave before Dick could prevent it, not stopping even when he called after him. Damian grinned at him, all but beaming with pride and satisfaction. _Shit_. Things couldn't have gone worse.

Of course, that's when Jason's bike entered the Cave, parking next to the Batmobile. Murphy had to hate Dick.

###

It didn't take 10 years of bat-training to see something was wrong. Jason removed his helmet, frowning.

"What the hell happened here?" he asked.

"Drake finally understood he wasn't needed," Damian smirked. "Thank to Grayson," he added, nodding his approbation.

Jason glared at Dick. Couldn't he at _least_ keep the two brats from quarreling? Apparently not. Instead, he made it _worse_.

"What did you _do?_ "

Dick glared right back at him. Jason supposed he felt entitled too, considering how Jason usually was the problematic one in the family. Yet, being the golden boy didn't mean Dickhead was above being a pain in the ass sometimes.

"Just a misunderstanding. I'll talk to Tim."

"Grayson wants _me_ to be Robin," Damian said.

Jason blinked. It made sense, somehow. Drake obviously didn't need their supervision – hell, _he_ could supervise _Jason_ – while the youngest brat certainly couldn't be left to his own devices, and even impersonate the Bat himself when needed.

However… Taking Robin's mantle away from Tim was bound to hurt him. As Dick should very well know.

"What the fuck, Dick?" Jason cursed, not bothering to hide his anger. They expected him to be angry all the time, anyway, it was almost cute. "You know better than taking that decision yourself! It should have come from him!"

If Dick was surprised to see Jason agree with Damian becoming Robin, he didn't show it.

"He isn't ready to take that decision yet," Dick said instead, and it made sense. Then of course, he had to spoil it by adding: "He isn't ready, yet he _should_."

"Fuck you," Jason spat. "I wasn't ready, either. Hell, _you_ weren't ready, when you weren't even Robin anymore! You hated me for becoming Bruce's partner, for taking your place in the family."

As if anyone could have replaced Dick Perfect Grayson in Bruce's eyes. Though Tim seemed to have done the trick. Jason felt sick when he thought about how well Bruce and Tim had worked together. It felt like a slap in the face all over again, not to have been good enough to be Robin after Dick, yet seeing his own replacement do a better job of it.

"It wasn't the same!" Dick protested.

Jason smirked.

" _Right_."

"It wasn't about the partnership _or_ the adoption!" Dick insisted.

Jason rolled his eyes.

"I know, okay? I _know_ how it feels."

Dick inhaled deeply. Then he shook his head.

"Robin," Dick said quietly. "It was my mother's name for me."

Jason's eyes widened. _What?_ Why hadn't Bruce _told him_ that? If he'd known, he'd… Hell. He couldn't have chosen another name anyway, could he? Robin already meant something to gothamites.

But still. Jason might have been more gracious about it.

The explanation came way too late to do anything about it now. What he _could_ do was to avoid Drake going through the whole deal as well. It had sucked enough the first two times. Fuck, the hostility between Drake and Damian had been bad enough. They really didn't need it to get worse, not with their alliance still that fragile.

"I'll go find him," Jason decided, heading for the stairs. Not that he actually _wanted_ to talk to his replacement, but leaving the situation as it was would only give it room to become worse. "I'll calm him down."

" _You_ are going to calm him down?" Dick asked, incredulously.

"I doubt he'd want to talk to either of you," Jason snapped.

That made Dick shut up at last.

Thankfully, the kid hadn't gone very far, and didn't bother to be quiet, because Jason wasn't in the mood of playing hide and seek. He followed the noise of breaking furniture, then of glass crashing. He found Drake sitting on the ground, surrounded by broken stuff, muttering to himself like the teenager he was.

He was barely older than Jason had been when he'd died.

"Hey," Jason said, sitting next to him.

Tim glanced at him, his eyes thunderous. Jason raised his eyebrows, then noticed Tim's bleeding hand. The kid was usually more careful than that. Well, it gave Jason something to do, which was good because he had no idea how to handle grieving teenagers. Without a word, he took the hand and cleaned it with the basic first aid kit he had in his pockets; with all this mess, he hadn't bothered to change into civilians clothes before heading after the kid.

"It looks like you won't need stitches," Jason commented. "Good. Stitches in the hand are a bitch."

Tim nodded. The rage and tension were bleeding out of him, leaving him exhausted. Jason knew the feeling.

He let his hand go and put the tools away, then just sat next to him in silence. When the kid would be ready to talk, he'd talk.

Jason didn't expect Tim to inhale sharply, as surprised.

"Oh my God," Tim gasped, sounding out of breath. "Oh my God oh my _God_."

Jason frowned. What the hell was happening now? He had been calming down just a second ago!

"Bruce," Tim breathed out. "He's _alive_."

Hope hit Jason like a fist. He came back to his senses quickly enough.

"Now that's just _sad_ ," he said, more harshly that he'd wanted. "He is _dead_ , kid. We had a funeral and everything."

Tim didn't answer, looking in the empty air with a ferocity that surprised Jason. Despite his best resolutions, he felt his heartbeats quicken. Hope, this ugly thing, was whispering to him that he, too, had been buried once, which didn't make him any less alive _now_.

"Kid," he tried again. Then, " _Tim_."

That startled the kid out of his fascination at last. However, rather than talking to him, Tim just pointed the empty air.

Jason frowned. No, he was pointing at the wall. But there was nothing there, just those stupid old paintings showing past generations of Waynes. Humoring him, Jason still looked – and stared. His heartbeat accelerated even more. That was _impossible_. Those paintings had been realized centuries ago.

Yet from the one right in front of them, Bruce's face was staring right back at him.

###

Damian had never liked lectures, especially ones coming from people who weren't entitled to give them. Yet he bore Grayson's, because protesting only made them last even longer. Besides, he _had_ just earned some leeway, considering how he had come to his senses and admitted Damian made a more suitable Robin than anyone else. Especially Drake.

It wasn't the same than receiving this acknowledgment from his father, of course. Damian pushed the thought away: it made his stomach burn in strange ways. Grayson's approval would have to do.

"Are you even listening to me?" Grayson asked in an exasperated tone.

Damian sighed. Of course he wasn't; but he was allowing him to express his opinion. Wasn't it good enough?

Grayson's anger was deflected by the noise of people coming in the Cave from the stairs. Damian frowned. Todd couldn't possibly have convinced Drake to come back that easily. He didn't possess enough of a grasp on basic psychology, and certainly not enough patience, either. Yet here they were.

"Dick!" Tim called, breathless. "Dick, I need to tell you…"

"Calm down, Drake," Todd intervened, and of course _he_ didn't get punched on just because he used Drake's last name. Not that Damian minded what this joke of a Robin thought of him. Besides, most people wouldn't just punch Todd, so maybe Drake wasn't _terminally_ stupid.

"But we need to tell them!"

"To tell us what?" Dick interrupted.

"Bruce is alive!"

For a few seconds, Damian found himself unable to hear anything. He felt a bit weird, actually, his balance gone all wrong. Had he been poisoned? He hadn't thought Drake had it in him to actually eliminate the competition like any true warrior would.

Damian forced himself back into focus.

"Bruce was just a _man_ , Tim," Grayson was saying.

It looked like Damian had only lost a few seconds. Not poison, then. Damian swallowed. What had Drake said about his father? Was that a lie? Certainly, even if _he_ wasn't above using such ignominious deceits, Todd wouldn't let him?

Yet Drake's face had closed up again at Grayson's words. Incomprehensibly, Damian felt his heartbeat accelerate. No! He couldn't just stay silent after having declared… after having _assured_ …

"Superman brought Bruce's body to us." Apparently, it wasn't just about lectures: Grayson _never_ knew when to stay silent. "We _buried_ him. And now we have to let him go."

Damian saw doubt flicker on Todd's face, and suddenly he felt like he could never get a breath in ever again. Grayson kept talking, and Drake seemed ready to bolt out again, and Todd _wasn't stopping them_!

"Enough…" Damian gasped, but his voice was so feeble no one heard him. He concentrated to get some air inside his lungs, then yelled: "ENOUGH!"

This time, he got the attention of all three men. He managed to glare at Grayson, then turned to Drake.

"Talk." Drake hesitated, as if there was anything to be hesitating about. "If there is the slightest chance of my father being alive, I demand you to tell me about it."

"We aren't sure of anything," Todd intervened.

Grayson pursed his lips.

"Yes, we _are_."

"No, Dick, we actually aren't," Todd insisted. "I might have a temper but I'm not delusional."

Damian grabbed Grayson's wrist as hard as he could.

"Let. Them. Talk," he articulated, slowly enough for the idea to get through his brain.

It worked. Grayson turned to Drake, still skeptical, but silent. That was all Damian asked of him.

Drake bit his lip.

"It's just a theory, that we will need to prove. I'm aware it might just be nothing…"

"Just tell me already!" Damian ordered, because he couldn't _wait_ anymore.

To his surprise, Drake put a hand on his shoulder.

"No, I _have_ to tell you this first. It _is_ just a theory, and it might be proven wrong. It is a very thin possibility. Barely hope at all. But I _will_ look into it and if it is correct, I _will_ find out."

Damian swallowed, then nodded, since Drake apparently needed confirmation that he knew the correct definition of a _theory_. Drake removed his hand – good, since Damian couldn't cut it off before hearing of this _theory_ – and took a step back.

"There is a painting in a room of the west wing. A painting of Bruce."

Grayson looked at Todd, who nodded in confirmation, then back at Drake.

"So?"

"It was painted in the 16th century."

Damian felt his breath catch again. Drake seemed to notice this time. For some reason, he didn't take the opportunity to mock him and merely nodded.

"He might not be dead. He might be lost in time."

###

Tim thought he would choke, or faint, or burst into tears. Hope and fear and _relief_ fought for attention. He buried them all. He needed to _concentrate_.

"The first step would be to authenticate the painting," he declared. "We should be able to use at least infrared reflectography in the lab, and of course a microscopic analysis… Though of course, even if he looks a lot like Bruce, it might just be a coincidence. We'll need more proof."

The others didn't react. Dick was staring at the paining, speechless. Jason was looking everywhere _but_ at it, and Damian…

Damian was focusing on _him_. Tim bit his lip again, too nervous to keep his tells in check. Bruce was important to all of them, even Jason, who arguably obsessed on him more than any of them. Dick, of course, was _Dick_ ; the first Robin, he knew Bruce the best.

But Damian… The brat had barely known his father, and Tim was forced to admit he _needed_ Bruce.

Yet Tim didn't regret having told him of this possibility, even if it turned up to be wrong. Maybe, with this transition, Damian would become part of the family without antagonizing everybody. And if the theory was correct…

In any case, Tim didn't regret his earlier promise, either. If Bruce was alive, he _would_ find him.

And he knew he was right. He just _knew_. God, please, he _had_ to be right.

A hand gripped his shoulder, a gesture so familiar that Tim froze. Of course, it wasn't Bruce suddenly appearing out of the 16th century. It was Jason.

"You're the detective," he said. "Damian can check the painting, he'll be more than thorough enough. Dick and Alfred can browse the manor's archives, or the city's, or even farther to see if we can learn the name of whoever it is on it. What's _next step?_ "

Tim thought hard. He would have to find harder evidence. Traces Bruce would have left across the timeline. First research from the computer, then checking the clues on site. Wherever they would be.

"I might need to travel," he summarized out loud.

Then he frowned. He couldn't both go and be here in Gotham, but Dick needed him, now more than ever. He couldn't leave.

Yet he couldn't _not go_.

The grip on his shoulder tightened.

"Talk to me, replacement," Jason ordered.

Tim wrinkled his nose. But then, brainstorming was more efficient with more than _one_ brain, and even if Jason was Jason – and Damian _Damian_ – they were still Bats.

"I am needed here," Tim said reluctantly. "We all are."

Dick turned away from the painting, his eyes sharps, broadcasting determination.

"We can handle Gotham."

Tim tensed. Dick raised a hand to stop his protestation before he had the time to voice them.

"No, listen to me," Dick continued. "Jason is right: _you_ are the detective. We need you on this. While the three of us _can_ handle Gotham. I did it with you, years ago, when Bruce's back was broken; I can do it again, even _without_ you. Can you trust me on this?"

How would Tim not trust _Dick_? But– this was different. The whole situation was different. Bruce wasn't just away for a couple of months. He was _dead_.

Except, he wasn't, was he? Not if Tim proved his theory. Then they'd ask the Justice League for help, and with _their_ resources, they would be able to bring Bruce back.

"You were Batman once already," Tim admitted.

And they needed Dick to be Batman again. Not all four of them together: just Dick. Even if he hated the idea.

Had he known Tim would be needed elsewhere? Was that why he'd started working on the Batsuit? No; the plan had been for all four of them to appear as the Batman. Well, all _three_ of them, Tim amended. There was no way in hell he'd let Damian try it, and it had been easy enough to argue a four-feet-tall Batman wouldn't be even remotely believable. Even in the dark.

"I'm going with you," Jason announced. For some reason, his hand was still on Tim's shoulder. "You'll need to focus on the brainy things. I can be muscle."

Some bat-silent communication passed between Dick and Jason. Tim frowned. He didn't need his help. Gotham was way too important!

"We are on this together," Dick argued. "I don't want you travelling around the world chasing after a mere theory alone."

Tim choked.

"I'm not _crazy!_ "

"That will make two of us," Jason commented. Abruptly, he grabbed his other shoulder. "Besides, the new dynamic duo will need some room to fit in place."

Tim grit his teeth. The moral support provided by Jason's hands had transformed into a constrain, and how had he been foolish enough to let _Jason_ that close in the first place?

"I'm not… He isn't…! _I'm Robin!_ " Tim yelled, because they didn't seem to _understand_.

Why? Dick was _Dick_ , and Jason– Jason was a _jerk_ and _crazy_ but he had been… reachable, lately. He had seemed to _get it_ when he'd come to talk to Tim, earlier. And now…

"Tim," Jason said softly. "No one is forcing you."

Tim shook his head. Jason shook _him_.

"No. One. Is forcing you. You're Robin. You decide. _But_. And yeah, don't look at me like that, you knew a _but_ was coming."

" _I can't lose Robin now!_ " Tim screamed, with all the air he had left in his lungs, with all the grief and rage of the past year, his dad's death, Stephanie, Kon, _Bruce_ , and fuck, he shouldn't have to say that out loud!

The hands left his shoulders. There was a strangled sound. Then Jason started to _laugh._

Tim _stared_. To be honest, so did Dick and Damian.

"Oh, replacement," Jason snickered. "Remember who you're talking to?"

Tim blinked. Then bushed.

Well, now he felt like a lunatic. That sure was the quickest rage-to-embarassement case he'd ever had.

Jason patted his head, because he couldn't take a victory graciously.

"I was saying. Dick is going to be Batman. You're going to be gone. Make the math, kid." Then, magnanimously, he added. "I'm no B., but you can be _my_ Robin, if you want."

Tim didn't even deign to gratify that with a glare. Damian snorted.

" _Red_ Robin. Maybe even Todd is capable of intelligent thought, after all."

Jason froze. Then sighed.

"Actually… Red Robin _might_ be an idea."

###

 _References:_

 _The scene of Tim discovering about Damian being Robin is in Red Robin #001. It began differently but I still used several sentences straight from the issue toward the end._

 _Tim realizing that Bruce is alive also happened in Red Robin #001 but we only see the painting in Red Robin #012._

 _Dick tried to talk Tim out of it in Red Robin #004 from which I stole a few sentences as well._

 _Yes, I really liked Red Robin Year one :) (that's issues 01 to 12)._

 _Also, mini-bonus because I first wrote this passage from Dick's point of view:_

 _(Jason) "'I know, okay? I know how it feels.'_

 _Dick inhaled deeply. He didn't know. How could he? Bruce obviously hadn't explained anything; possibly even forgot about it himself. Moreover, Jason was right: the partnership and the adoption had hurt enough by themselves. But they weren't the worst of it._

' _Robin,' Dick said, forcing his voice to be calm. 'It was my mother's name for me.'"_


End file.
